


Smoking Gun

by MarqueeDuCheesepuff



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels, Apocalypse, Demons, F/F, F/M, Heaven, Hell, Hunting, Implied Destiel - Freeform, Implied Smut, LGBT, Lesbian Relationship, M/M, Monster - Freeform, OC, Original Character - Freeform, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking, angel - Freeform, demon, necromancer - Freeform, necromancing, season 4, season 5
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarqueeDuCheesepuff/pseuds/MarqueeDuCheesepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse is on the horizon. A Teenage Mutant Necromancer is the very last thing Dean and Sam Winchester could ever need. Even if she does have good taste in coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead-Eyed in Black Headlights

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone; I'm not exactly the best at writing, and this story is kind of not written very well, even though I have three betas...  
> Also, some canon characters might seem a tad bit OOC because I still haven't gotten the hang of writing the characters of other people.  
> Of course, since this has a fan character in it, it'll most likely get reviewed poorly.  
> Oh, well...constructive criticism is appreciated, but please don't be too harsh. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the dark of night, a small flame was dropped into their laps.

The clouds were huddling close to the moon for warmth during that cold December night. Sam shuddered and crossed his arms, gazing at the run-down chemical plant. He was incredibly pissed off, not to mention tired, and that huge thing was just giving him a headache.

Dean poked his head from the back of the Impala and grinned apologetically at his little brother. “I’ve almost found them, Sammy,” he said, continuing to dig through his duffel bag.

 The taller one scoffed and shook his head. “Y’know…this could’ve waited until morning,” he huffed. His breath hung in the air from the temperature, distracting him from the situation for a brief moment.

“Look, I know how much you need your beauty sleep, princess,” Dean replied, “but Bobby said that this job was of particular urgency. Something about the ghost only appearing in the wee hours on the 14th…Eureka!” He grinned, yanking out a pair of gas masks. He threw one to Sam.

The taller one smiled ruefully as he wiped the dust off the goggles. “I seriously can’t understand how you managed to lose some gas masks in a bag as big as that,” he said, blowing off a cobweb, “Where did you get these, anyway?”

The elder brother zipped up the duffel and threw it into the trunk before slamming it shut. “Bobby loaned ‘em to me.” He walked to his sibling and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Now, what do you say we go Scooby Doo on this mother’s ass and call it a night?”

Sam rolled his eyes and picked up the shot gun from the hood of the Impala. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

From within the depths of the plant, there came a huge clatter of metal, like someone had fallen over. The brothers jumped. Sam’s eyes were briefly fixated on the doors of the plant before Dean snapped him out of it. “Dude. That’s our curtain call,” he said before storming to the entrance.

Sam shook his head. For some odd reason, that noise had troubled him more than it should have. 

* * *

 

As the huge metal door swung closed behind them, the faint smell of gasoline filled their noses. Dean grimaced. “Bobby said this place’s been out of business for fifteen years…” he murmured before clambering down the metal walkway.

Sam watched his older brother step into the hallway and turn around a corner before he allowed himself to marvel at the ancient machines on the floor below his feet.

Several of these great metallic beasts had rusted over, their pipes seemingly ripped in half.  The oxidized iron slightly shimmered despite the lack of sufficient lighting. Somewhere, he could here water still dripping, as if the local government was too lazy to cut the water supply.

He was absolutely enticed by the workings of the plant, imagining how each part of the process went in his mind. Sam had no idea why he was so interested in this, so he blamed it on his exhaustion while staring at a broken clock.

From behind a boiler he saw movement, like a person was crawling around. In one swift motion, he grabbed the flashlight resting in his pocket and flipped it on. “Dean?!” he cried, “I think I found our ghost!”

Before his older brother could even make it back to him, the figure from behind the huge machine stepped out into his beam of light. It was someone dressed in a hazmat suit, complete with gloves and booties. Their face was obscured by their gasmask, but Sam could still tell that the person was a girl when they yelled, “You think that _I’m_ the ghost?!”

Not a moment afterwards, Dean ran up beside him. He immediately pointed his shotgun at her, and she threw her hands up and backed away. “Start talking, _now_ ,” he demanded, stepping in front of his brother.

The girl shook her head. “I take it you two are hunters,” she stated as she hit the wall, her voice unwavering. Sam looked at his brother, whose gun was still trailed on her. If that girl were a demon, or even the ghost, wouldn’t she have attacked them by now? Or was she like Meg?

Most, if not all, of the mechanics here were made with some amount of iron. She probably touched several of the ones she came across, and she didn’t appear to be in any sort of pain whatsoever. Perhaps this girl could be trusted.

“Dean, put the gun down.”

“Sammy, she’s---“

“ _Put the gun down_.”

Dean held his aim for a minute longer before reluctantly giving in. The gun dropped to his side, and the girl allowed her arms to fall. “Who are you?” Sam said.

She approached the fenced walkway that the brothers were standing on. “If we’re going to talk, then why don’t you come down here?” she asked.

Sam scanned the walkway quickly; there was no way to get to the floor that she was on. “Okay, uh…you stay right there, and we’ll find some stairs or a ladder or something,” he said, pulling Dean with him down the hall, “Give us five minutes at the most.”

As he was walking, he saw her shake her head again out of the corner of his eye. “Or you could just jump.”

The brothers stopped and turned to her. While Dean gave her a look that one would give to someone who thought it was a good idea to stick their face in wet cement, Sam could only wonder if that’s how she managed to get to the lower floor.

“Hey, look, cowgirl,” his elder sibling snapped, pulling Sam abruptly out of his thoughts, “I don’t feel like breaking my legs tonight, so my brother and I-” – he grabbed the brunette’s arm – “ _We_ are going to go find some stairs.”

The girl muttered something like, “That asshat did _not_ just make fun of my accent,” and for the first time, Sam did indeed notice that she had a considerable southern twang to her voice. It made things more interesting when she said, “I thought hunters had…like… _stone_ s between their legs, y’know?” she said, making a circle with her hands, “But whatever. I guess I just found a couple of no-balls amateurs.”

Sam had to hold Dean back before the elder sibling said something he would regret. The girl chuckled to herself before adding, “Fine, be pussies. I’ll just climb up there myself.”

He blinked, and suddenly she had climbed onto one of the machines. The girl flung herself at the walkway, catching the top bar of the protective fence in her hand before pulling herself over. She crashed into the metal flooring with a thunk.

Dean grabbed her arm and pulled her up. Sam swore he could see daggers erupting from his eyes when she became face-level. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, _Miss Kentucky_ ,” he hissed, “but I don’t like your attitude, and I don’t like _you_.”

Sam shoved Dean’s grip off of her. She stumbled back a bit, and then stood there for a few moments, silent.

“Did your mother drop you on your head or something?!” she finally shouted. At that point, Sam could see that his brother was about to hit the roof, and frankly he was getting upset with this girl too. He grabbed her shoulder firmly.

“Look, lady,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “If you have a problem with us, then we can just-“

“I’m sorry if I insulted you with that last comment, I really am, but what kind of idiot goes into an _abandoned chemical plant_ without their gas masks?!”

 Sam and Dean looked at each other. Indeed, with the distraction of the noise, they had completely forgotten about strapping the protective gear onto themselves. The masks were probably still outside. They bathed in the knowledge for a moment before the girl snapped, “ _Well?!_ ”

Sam huffed. How could they have made such a rookie mistake? “We…left them outside.”

 _I_ told _Dean it was too early for this._

“ _Then go get them._ ”

Dean rolled his eyes in frustration before pushing his way out of the huge metal doors, coming back a moment later with the masks. He handed Sam one, and they both quickly strapped them on.

The girl clapped her hands. “Good, so you came somewhat prepared.” She began to move down the hallway, motioning them to follow. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we?”

* * *

 

They passed through several different hallways, some adorned with broken windows that would show various rooms of machinery. It was tempting to just stop and look at all of them. Sam figured, though, that the girl in the suit wouldn’t be too keen on that.

“So, you fellas are the Winchester boys?” she said, “I’ve heard about you two before. Sorry about the no-balls comment from before. I was just playing with you.” She laughed, and Sam picked up the rather new nervous tone in her voice. Why was she suddenly afraid? Well, it might be because his older brother was pretty much mutilating her with his gaze.

Dean huffed as he matched her brisk pace. “Water under the bridge,” he snarled, “Now, kindly tell us who you are and why Sam was so keen on stopping me from blowing your bitchy little head off.”

She laughed again. “Me? I’m just a nobody who wants to help people.” She turned a corner and stopped at an open door. “You could say, though, that my methods of helping aren’t exactly that…um… _normal_.”

_We're hunters._ Our _ways of helping people aren't normal._

The girl pushed the door open further and stepped inside a room. As the brothers entered, Sam was surprised to see an altar cloth laying smack in the center, adorned with what must have been dozens of candles. A pile of ashes lay in front of it, and the floor where it had been placed was covered in wormwood.  The black backpack that must have carried it all was tossed aside.

In a moment of his fascination, he barely noticed that she was standing beside her altar, waiting for them. “So, uh…do you want to see what I do?” she asked.

Dean stepped closer to her, still agitated. “What are you?” he demanded, “I mean, are you a, uh, hunter? A witch? I mean, seriously, how can we trust you? We don’t even know your name.”

She crossed her arms. “You don’t know my name because I don’t want you to try to find me and kill me after I do my job,” she replied haughtily, “And I won’t let you kill me on sight; I _always_ get away.”

The older brother muttered, “Cocky bitch,” before he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, go on. Do whatever it is you do so we can see if we want to kill you or not.” Sam wandered over to where they were, still intently focused on the altar. He had barely heard any of the arguing; the setup of this was so _precise_ , it almost hurt to look at.

“Sam?” the girl asked, grabbing his attention, “What say you?”

“Huh? Oh…yeah, sure, let’s see it,” he replied, “I can’t say I’m not curious about it.” Dean’s body seemed to roll as his eyes did.

The girl gently waved for them to back away before dropping to her knees on the altar cloth. She took a few, very audible deep breaths. The elder Winchester leaned to his brother and whispered, “Hey, Sammy…I say we gank the crazy bitch, find the ghost, get rid of it, and head back to the motel. You with me?” The brunette absentmindedly shook his head, somewhat transfixed on the ritual going on in front of him. Dean sighed, clearly irritated to his max, before standing up straight again.

There were a few moments of silence in the room, except for the sounds of the girl’s breathing. Then, suddenly, the flames of the candles grew larger in the altar. Her hands began to grip her knees for dear life as she started to chant: “ _Offero corpus meum ad vos sic vos permoveo in. Offero corpus meum ad vos sic vos permoveo in. Offero corpus meum ad…”_ The chant seemed to go on and on, her voice becoming hypnotic as it rumbled with the beat of the words. The flames flickered in and out like someone was blowing on them.

Sam rubbed his hands together methodically as the temperature in the room slowly lowered. Had someone opened a window?

Then, with a sound like a blast of wind, the candles went out, and the girl was knocked against a wall.

“ _Hey!_ ” Dean yelled, running to her as she struggled to get up. Sam quickly followed suit, and watched as his brother began to scold her: “You were messing with black magic, weren’t you? Lady, that’s the stupidest thing you could ever do! I don’t know how much you know about this stuff, but it’s starting to mess with your head; you need to get out of this while you---“

The girl pushed him aside before struggling to reach around her back. Dean grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the floor. “ _What are you doing?!_ ” he snapped.

She panted, catching her breath before speaking again. This time, however, her accent had changed completely. “I’m trying to take off this hazmat suit, you _fucking moron_.”

What the hell? She wasn’t from England, not that Sam could tell.

“Okay, you’ve officially gone from slightly nuts to certifiable,” Dean said, “That was the worst British accent I’ve ever heard, by the way.” The younger brother stared at him, realization running over him like a cold shower. “Dude, I don’t think she’s faking it.”

Dean looked at the girl, then back to Sam. “You don’t seriously believe her bullshit, do you?” Sam could only purse his lips together. He looked at her struggling against his brother. Slowly, he crouched down to their level.

“…what’s your name?” he asked cautiously.

Her head tilted towards him. “Lewis Grisby,” she muttered, “Satisfied?”

Sam looked at Dean. “That’s the name of our guy, right? Bobby said it was a ‘Grisby’,” he said, somewhat excited. The older Winchester stared at him. “You can’t be serious,” he muttered, “You really _do_ believe this load of crap.”

Sam ignored him and continued to question the girl…who was apparently a man now. “What year were you born in, Mr. Grisby?”

“1956.”

“Are you married?”

“My wife’s name is Rebecca.”

“How many children do you have?”

“A son, Matthew. And to answer what will probably be your next question…yes. I’m aware that I’m dead.”

Sam blinked. For him, it was kind of difficult to believe that she was making this up. He didn’t know why, but it just seemed like something that she… _couldn’t_ do. The blame for this once again fell upon his exhaustion.

“I’d _love_ to chit chat some more,” “Lewis” began, “but it’s a bit difficult to talk in here. Be a lamb and tell your goon to release me, would you?”

Dean looked to Sam, a clear expression of fury and annoyance decorating his face. His younger brother sighed and nodded at him, and he reluctantly let his prisoner go. “Lewis” stood up and began to walk towards the door. “I think it’d be best if we talk in some fresh air, don’t you?”

They watched the girl disappear down the hallway. Dean shook his head, rubbing his temples. “I really… _really do not_ like her.”

* * *

 

It was still dark when they stepped out of the abandoned plant. Whoever it was in that girl’s body was still struggling to get out of the hazmat suit when the Winchesters had removed their gas masks. Sam walked over to the girl and murmured, “Let me,” before pulling the zipper on the back of the suit down enough for her to wriggle free. He silently breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that she was wearing clothes and not just underwear…the thought that she might’ve forgotten to don actual clothing was mentally labeled with “because I’m tired”.

Messy black hair fell out of the helmet, and sunken green eyes blinked to adjust to the lighting. She stretched her pale, bony arms above her head and yawned, chapped lips curling into a grin.

Her smile became wider when she looked at the sky. The crescent moon was still out, and most of the clouds had gone. “I haven’t seen the night for a long time,” she whispered to herself.

She gazed upwards a little bit longer before turning to the brothers. “What is it that you want with me?” “Lewis” asked. The question had no tone of the earlier indignation.

Dean rubbed his hands together to protect from the cold. “To knock you out of your little schizophrenic episode,” he responded curtly. Sam gritted his teeth and elbowed his brother in the ribs. “ _Dean…_ ” he quipped as the elder Winchester flinched.

“Lewis” pursed her lips. “It’s fine,” she said, “I can understand how you wouldn’t be able to believe that I’m dead. Maybe I can show you…” She moved closer to them. Her fingers touched Dean’s; he jumped back. “Jesus!” he breathed, “Keep those away from me, they’re _freezing_!”

Sam looked at him quizzically. It was already pretty cold, so why was he complaining about _her_ being cold?

She turned to him next, laying a firm hand on the back of his. He nearly yelped in surprise. It was like she had decided to dip herself in ice before coming out here!

“Lewis” pulled away from him. Dean glared at her. “Did one of Santa’s reindeer run off to the States?” he said angrily.

She huffed, her breath briefly staining the air. “Then I’ll have to try something else,” she muttered.

Before either one of them could react, she snatched Sam’s hand once more, placing it against the equally cold nape of her neck.

Sam froze. For a moment, he was totally and utterly confused. Dean was ready to attack her at any moment; he could see his brother slowly reaching for the shotgun that he had placed on the hood.

Then he realized that something about her was totally and completely _wrong_ , and it proved “Lewis’” case much more than her cold fingers.

There was no pulse whatsoever.

“Dean,” he said urgently, waving him over. His older brother sighed and abandoned his offensive, putting his fingers on the other side of her neck. In a matter of seconds, his expression turned from annoyance to one of shock and confusion.

He grabbed the gun and held it point-blank to her temple. “ _What are you?!_ ” he cried as she struck up her hands. “I told you _, I’m dead!_ ” she yelled in fear, “And I think I’m the ghost that she was looking for!”

Sam yanked the gun out of his brother’s hands and tossed it aside. The girl dropped her hands and gasped for air, recovering from her apparent adrenaline rush…if it was possible she could have one at this point.

“So, are you…possessing her right now?” he asked tentatively. He had no idea how she would react to Dean’s aggressiveness.

“Yes,” “Lewis” gasped, clutching at her chest, “but I didn’t force myself on her…she, uh, forced herself on me.”

The boys looked at each other before turning back to her. “’Forced herself on you’?” Dean asked, eyebrows to the sky. The girl took in a deep breath and nodded. “You heard the spell-thing, right?”

“Well, you didn’t have to _let_ her do that,” the elder Winchester snapped, “Couldn’t you have just…I don’t know, cast her out?”

She shook her head and shoved her hands into her pockets. “That spell doesn’t exactly work like that…” she murmured, “Because, up until now, I was incredibly angry.”

_A vengeful spirit…_

“Lewis” clasped her hands together and bit her lower lip. “The combination of her casting that spell and me being that full of rage is like…” She cupped her hands together, her face frozen in thought. “…it’s like being pissed and horny and there’s a beautiful supermodel crawling all over you.” She looked to Dean. “Wouldn’t you take her back home and bang her until she’s a puddle?”

The older Winchester nodded cautiously. Sam could see that he was becoming just as curious as himself. “Lewis” kept going. “Then you wake up afterward and you’re not all that drunk or horny anymore and you realize that the ‘model’ was really just a pig-woman with way too much facial hair,” he said, “That’s kind of like what she did...she was the ‘model’, and I the drunkard.”

“You entered her body because you wanted revenge?” Sam guessed. “Lewis” smiled at him. “A cookie for you!” she said, “Yes, that’s precisely it. I needed a proper body because I wanted to kill the man who was responsible for my death. Well, at the time I wanted to kill him, I mean.”

For some reason, Sam was hungry to know more. “Why aren’t you angry now?” he pressed. She shrugged. “Maybe it’s because she’s got some kind of soothing vibe,” she said, “I’m not entirely sure. Whatever it is, it’s made me calm _way_ down.”

“And why do you consider a…’pig-faced woman’?” Dean interjected. His younger brother was somewhat surprised. He thought that he’d be too irritated to ask anything.

“Lewis” blinked at them, baffled. “ _He-llo-o?_ ” she said, tapping at her skull, “I’m a _man_. I like women and all, but that doesn’t mean I want to _be_ one.” Suddenly, her torso jerked downward, like someone had hit her.

“ _Dean!_ ” Sam yelled, glaring at his brother. The elder waved his hands. “I didn’t touch her!” he shouted. They both turned to “Lewis” when she moaned in pain. “Yeah, yeah, sorry…” she mumbled, “Your body is perfectly suitable…”

The Winchesters stared at her, confused. She looked back up at them, holding the back of her head. “Did I forget to mention that she’s awake, too…?” she groaned.

Dean paused for a moment. He began to rub his temples again. “Alright, no more playing ’20 Questions’. I’m starting to get a migraine…” he muttered, “Right now, I just want to get this job done and go back to the motel.”

_Now you know my pain_ , Sam thought to himself.

“Lewis” stood up and straightened her back. She looked as though she was listening intently to something, silently nodding and mouthing “okay” to the air before turning to the brothers once more. “She knows where my son is.”

“That’s fantastic,” Dean murmured sarcastically, “What about your son?” “Lewis” frowned slightly at him. “I’d like to pass on, but…I want to see my son first,” she responded, “And this girl knows where he is.”

“Okay, great,” Sam said, yawning, “but right now it’s four in the morning or something. Why don’t we just go to base camp, get some sleep, and in the morning we can—“

“ _No._ ”

“Lewis'" gazed hardened and she stared at the boys intently. “I…I need to see him now,” she muttered, “Before the sun comes up. That’s when I’ll go back to being angry again. So…”

“We have to do it ASAP?” Sam finished. She nodded again, and the brothers groaned in unison. Her eyes darted nervously around the area, and she started rubbing her hands together. “H-he doesn’t live very far from here,” she said, “I’d really like to see him…and you two want to wrap this up, right?”

Dean picked up their supplies and walked around to the back of the Impala, threw them in the open trunk, and slammed it shut. He climbed into the driver’s seat and proceeded to pout tiredly.

Sam sighed at his brother. "We’ll take you over there,” he offered, trying to look as kind as possible. She smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you, but no,” she replied. He rubbed his forehead. This guy…girl…whatever she was supposed to be was proving to be more than incredibly frustrating.

"I mean…she has a truck,” she said anxiously, “I can drive myself. She wants you to follow me and be there in case the sun comes up…”

Sam looked towards his brother, who was still moping in the front seat. “I see…” he murmured thoughtfully.

“Lewis” smiled again, but ruefully. “I’ll pull around, alright? You and… _Dean_ can follow me at any time. The drive will only take an hour or so.” Before Sam could say a word, she began walking out of the parking lot and onto the grassy lawn, fading with the late-night fog as she moved further and further away.

He watched for a moment. This girl intrigued him, despite it not even being her controlling her body at the present time. He shook his head and got into the car beside Dean, slamming the door shut. They both exchanged a silent look full of exhaustion, annoyance, and slight curiosity.

His older brother simply nodded and turned back to the steering wheel.

A few moments passed before they heard the rev of a truck engine. Sam turned to look behind them, and was greeted by blinding headlights.

The truck rolled forward, and then around a corner onto the asphalt. It paused, as though she was looking at them, before it drove down the road.

Sam heard Dean yawn before he slid his key into the ignition. With one quick turn, the Impala roared to life. “When this is done, I’m gonna kill her,” he murmured sleepily.

* * *

 

The house was in an expansive neighborhood, yet it was tiny. “Lewis” walked up the steps to the front door, turning back to the brothers once her feet hit the welcome mat. She looked terrified.

Sam gave her a tiny nod, urging her to go on. She took a deep breath and turned back to the door. The knocks echoed throughout the neighborhood; it was loud enough to startle the boys. A few seconds past, and the door opened slightly.

Sam briefly saw a glimpse of a man holding what looked to be a rolled-up blanket in his arm peeking out before ushering “Lewis” in. Then the door was gently shut closed.

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. The sky was getting brighter. He wondered to himself if this girl would get the job done on time. He turned to Dean, who merely yawned.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Sam was starting to get worried. He was about to jostle his tired sibling to go check inside, when a sudden burst of gold light erupted from the house. Dean jumped awake and instinctively threw his arm in front of Sam as they watched the light in awe.

It sparkled for a second or two before fading. Then another pause.

Dean still held his arm in front of Sam, a look of concern spread on his face like butter. The younger of the two pressed his lips together into a thin line. She better not have gotten herself killed; he did _not_ feel like cleaning up a body tonight.

Eventually, the door opened again, and a baby’s cry could be faintly heard. The girl walked through the crack. She turned to the inside of the house and waved to who he assumed to be the man inside. As the door shut and she walked back to the brothers, Sam could see a wad of dollar bills sitting in her hand. She counted through them before folding them and sliding them into her jacket pocket.

The girl walked up to them and pulled out a cigarette carton and a lighter. She stuck one of the cancer sticks in her mouth and focused her attention on the Zippo. Her head snapped up, as though she just now remembered they were there. She smiled and held the carton to them. “Want one?” she asked, her southern accent present once more.

Dean shook his head. “We don’t smoke,” he said gruffly.

The girl shrugged and lit the cigarette, drawing in the nicotine slowly. She slipped the lighter back into its hiding place. “Impressed by my work?” she asked again.

“More like horrified,” the older Winchester mumbled, “What the hell are you _doing_ , going around and playing with ghosts like that?”

The smile was gone from her face. She looked down at her feet and mumbled something.

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘I don’t really have a choice’.”

Sam blinked. What did she mean by that? He really wanted to ask her, but from the sullen look on her face, it was best to save the question for later.

He opted for a different one, a query that was short and sweet: “Will you tell us your name now?”

She looked up and stared at him dead in the eyes, as though she were silently judging him. “Promise you won’t hunt me down if I tell you?”

Dean looked accusingly at his brother, an unspoken threat present in his gaze. Sam ignored him and let out a sigh. “We promise,” he said, exasperated. The girl smiled at him and pulled the cigarette from her lips.

“Therese Audibert. Call me whatever you want, though. I know my name's a mouthful."


	2. Smoke of Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't a matter of "does". It's a matter of "if". His supplier thinks it wise to ignore either option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trying to get the hang of writing other people's characters, sorry about everything being kind of wonky.

Sam watched rather intently as Therese took a slow drag from her poisonous friend. She looked up at the boys and smiled casually, knocking the loose ashes into a small tray on the table. A trail of smoke slipped through her somewhat-burnt lips.

“You okay, Sam?” she asked, her voice slightly raspier from the tobacco. He barely heard her speak; he had become so immersed with the way the bad lighting of the hotel lamp caught the fumes of the cigarette. He watched the light carry it all the way back to her face, wrapping her in a thin fog of toxins. The lamp helped make her sunken eyes more apparent, along with her caved-in cheeks.

The only thing to jerk him from his cigarette smoke-induced trance was Dean’s elbow landing in his ribs. His eyes fluttered in surprise. “Huh?” he muttered, “Oh…I’m okay. Just tired.”

His brother gave a small yawn as well, as though he wanted to clarify this rather obvious fact even more. Sam rolled his eyes and let out a grunt as he sank deeper into his chair.

 Therese gave another polite smile to them and snuffed out her cigarette in the ash tray. “I’ll let you boys sleep then,” she said, rising from her seat “We can keep talking about this in the morning.”

Dean frowned and rose with her. “ _In the morning?_ ” he echoed, “Who said anything about us seeing you again _at all_?” He turned to Sam, staring at him with his crankiness turned to eleven. “The only reason I even brought you back here was because Sam wanted me to.”

The long-haired brother lazily looked back down at the cigarette. Small lines of smoke still hovered over it. He hardly noticed Therese raise her eyebrow at him. “So he has a crush on me,” she snickered, smiling with her slightly-yellowed teeth, “I’m flattered, sweetie, but I don’t think you’d look good in prison orange that much.”

The mention of “prison” made both Winchester’s heads snap back to her. “ _What?_ ” they said in unison.

The smile on her face quickly dropped. “Oh, no no no,” she said, cringing, “I mean…I’m not a criminal or CIA agent or anything. It’s just that I’m pretty sure your brother doesn’t want to be shipped off to jail for statutory rape…”

_Statutory rape._

Sam could practically feel the gears turning. He quickly stood up on impulse, nearly tipping the table over. His mouth hung open, his finger raised towards a her as the words formed in his mouth.

“How…” he began, “Therese, how old are you?”

Her eyebrows knitted themselves together. “Seventeen. Why?” she asked, “Do I look older or somethin’?”

_Seventeen?! Oh, holy shit…_

Sam watched Dean’s expression quickly transformed from shock to exasperation. He wiped a hand across his mouth. “So…what you – Therese Audibert – are saying to me,” he said, letting out a frustrated chuckle, “Is that you are a minor?”

She nodded, seemingly becoming more and more confused.

Dean let out a full blown laugh. “And _you_ – Therese Audibert, _seventeen-years-old_ – are going around hunting ghosts _by yourself_?”

“Yeah…?” she muttered, eyes widening, lips pressing together in a line.

His older brother began to laugh out loud, chanting, “Seventeen, _fucking seventeen,_ ” to the ceiling.

Sam stared at Therese. She jumped at the sudden eye contact, like he was starting to burn holes into her head with his look. He walked around the table and moved until he was close enough to smell the nicotine on her breath.

“Look,” he said in a low tone, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you are in way over your head. _Way_ over your head.” She nodded again, but he noticed a tiny smile creeping up on her lips.

“We have to stop the _goddamn apocalypse_ ,” Dean shouted before continuing his laughter, sprawling himself on his bed, “And we’ve got some stupid brat that thinks she can play _Ghost Busters_.”

Sam sighed at his sibling before he noticed that Therese was chuckling too. His frustration was about to boil over, and combined with the fact that he hadn’t slept in a good 35 hours, the result wasn’t going to be pretty.

“ _What’s so funny?_ ” he hissed.

Therese looked back at him. Suddenly, it felt as though she were sucking his anger from his body; her eyes were so intently fixated upon him that it was somewhat frightening. He backed up a little bit as his brother’s giggling began to be replaced with snores.

“You think I don’t know something’s going on, _Sammy-boy?_ ” she sneered. He swallowed hard.

 _Jesus Christ, maybe Dean was right; maybe she_ is _batshit crazy._

“I’ve known for a while,” she spat, her grin turning crooked, “That’s why so many more ghosts have been popping up, and it’s been making my job hell.” She stepped up to him, placing a long, bony finger to his forehead.

“And I know it’s got something to do with _you two_. So hey – here I am, ready to help. But all you can focus on is my age.” She slammed a palm across her chest. “I am a bona fide ghost expert. You name it, I’ve probably dealt with it. You could use someone to pick up the slack with _some_ part of your work, don’t you think?”

Sam nodded, somewhat bewildered. “That’s true,” he muttered, exhaling as her gaze went soft, “But we really, _really_ don’t need someone – especially a _young_ someone - who’s going to hold us back, ghost expert or not.”

_And when did we get to talking about her joining us?_

Her eyebrow raised and her lips twitched into a cocky grin. “Hold you back, huh?”

Then suddenly, the motel room whirled about, and Sam found himself pinned harshly against the table. Therese’s mouth was right next to his nose; the stench of her ash-tray breath made him gag. “Don’t judge a book by its cover, Sammy.”

He let out a long sigh, and felt her grip around his neck loosen. In a matter of moments, he had her thrown to the ground as quickly as she had shoved him on the table. She let out a yelp as her back came in contact with the cheap carpet.

He stood over her and couldn’t help the smirk growing ever so slightly on his face. It had been a while since he had wrestled with anyone. He kind of missed it.

She glared back at him, a hint of playfulness dancing on her face. “You’re very right,” he said, pulling her up with a grunt, “And for someone your age, you’re pretty good at this.”

“Why, thank you _kindly_ ,” she murmured, cringing and clutching her back, “Glad someone doesn’t think I’m all that fragile, but next time…if you went a _little_ easier on me, I’d really appreciate it.”

Sam smiled to himself.  Therese was proving to be quite interesting, even though he’d known her for only a couple of hours. He knew that Dean wouldn’t agree so much, but Sam didn’t care. He wanted to keep talking to this girl and find out more about her and her weird power over ghosts. Right then, he wouldn’t admit it to himself, but he was growing a little bit attached to this teenaged chimney that they’d just met.

He happened to absent mindedly glance at the pack of Marlboro’s on the crummy table.

_She really needs to break that habit…_

_Habit. Addiction_.

Sam swallowed hard.

He was out.

 A rush of energy left his body, like someone had sucked him dry. A cold feeling started to spread slowly, _so_ slowly, through him. At the same time, the exhaustion he was once feeling rapidly ebbed away. Any happiness he felt was replaced with a gnawing craving. He began to panic.

_I need to call Ruby._

He saw that Therese's eyebrows dip lower on her face in worry. Was he really that obvious?

“Darlin’? You okay?” she asked, genuine concern on her face. She pressed a long-fingered hand to his forehead. “Do I need to wake up Dea--”

“ _No._ ”

His hand reached out and slapped her's away.

He stared at her for a moment. Her dull green stare kept him glued to the floor for just a second, like he was a child and her eyes were the psychologist, trying to coax something out of him.

Sam shook his head before storming past her. He pulled his jacket off the hook on the wall and quickly put it on. All the while, she still kept looking at him. He suddenly despised her and her stupid, intrusive eyes.

“You don’t know me,” he snarled, “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Therese looked at the floor, still raising her hands like a white flag. “Sorry,” she mumbled, “I’ll watch Dean while you’re out, I guess.”

The tiniest throb of guilt passed through his heart, but it faded as soon as it came. “He doesn’t need to be watched.”

“What will he say if he wakes up and we’re both gone, Sammy?”

He huffed at her. She was right; Dean would most certainly panic if he woke up and the first thing he saw was an empty motel room.

“I’m going for a drink,” he muttered, “Be back in a few hours.”

Therese nodded slowly, and he felt those awful green eyes drilling into the back of his head as he stepped out the door.

“One more thing,” he said, turning to face that black-haired stranger. She perked up, hand frozen as she was reaching for another cigarette.

_Disgusting._

“Don’t you _ever_ call me ‘Sammy’ again,” he growled.

“Whatever you say, _Sam_.” She popped a poison-filled paper into her mouth and reached for her lighter. “I’ll be gone before tomorrow afternoon. I want to talk to Dean first, though.”

The taller Winchester sighed in exasperation. He was getting impatient; he felt the need to talk to this _girl,_ and that interrupted his fetching of the fix that he so desperately needed right now.

“Great. Sure. Whatever,” he said, and he stepped into the chilly, 5 a.m. air, the door slamming behind him.

He got no more than two blocks away from his motel room when he couldn’t take the waiting anymore. He dug in his pocket for his phone, and sighed in relief when he finally caught hold of it. His fingers trembled as he pressed the speed dial button.

The phone began to ring. It rang, and rang, and rang for what seemed like hours. After four rings, someone picked up the other end.

_“Hello?”_

"Ruby, thank God you finally answered. Listen, I...I need it. Now."

* * *

 

His lips pressed hard against the nape of her neck, making her puffed lips open with a moan. He could almost _feel_ the blood pumping through the veins beneath her skin; it took everything not to just bite down harshly and suck every drop out.

Ruby smiled as his head lifted from her throat, their eyes meeting. “You still haven’t told me about that girl,” she purred, “Gotta be honest, Sam, I’m a bit curious.”

His lips pursed together in a thin line. That weird, smoky, skeleton, Ghost-Buster girl was the _last_ thing he wanted on his mind right then. “Later,” he growled, pressing his lips to hers. The kiss deepened in a matter of moments, the tips of their tongues jabbing at one another.

Sam groaned. He _needed_ it, God damnit.

He forcefully pushed Ruby away, the back of her head landing with a gentle thud on the hotel wall. “Ruby…” he began.

She pressed a finger to his lips and smirked coyly. “Tell you what,” she murmured, an impish look in her eyes, “I’ll give you all the blood you need and then some…and you tell me about that girl you were going on about.”

He sighed. This demon was going to drive him crazy. “Fine. Just… _please_.”

Ruby grinned, victorious. She grabbed his knife, which had been set carefully on the bedside table, and unsheathed it. A quick swipe of the blade against her arm, and there it was: his favorite cocktail just dripping from that tiny little cut, almost teasing him.

Sam couldn’t help but smile as he pressed his open mouth to the wound and sucked greedily. Others might find the taste of metal and salt disgusting. To the youngest Winchester, it was the closest thing to heaven. He felt a familiar warmth spread through his body as the demon blood coursed through him.

His thirst quenched, he looked back into Ruby’s big brown eyes. She wiped the blood dripping from his mouth with her thumb. Before she could pull away, his broad hands grabbed hers, and he wrapped his mouth around the dirty finger, dragging his tongue on it. A giggle flew past her open mouth as he diligently cleaned her thumb.

The last of the blood gone, he turned his gaze to her. She looked at him expectantly. “Well?” she asked, “Aren’t you going to tell me?”

Sam huffed. There was no way he was going to get past this. “Okay…she’s…” he began, but Therese was just so incredibly _odd_ that he couldn’t think of much to say about her. Besides that she has a ghost power, and she’s a fireplace in a seventeen-year-old girl’s body.

“She’s _what_?” Ruby demanded, her tone impatient.

“She’s…uh…well, her name is Therese, she’s seventeen,” he said, “And she has this…this _weird_ ability to let ghosts possess her at will, and she smokes like a chimney.”

The demon stared at him, her eyes begging to know more. He shrugged apologetically, which earned him an annoyed sigh. “That’s it?” she quipped.

“That’s it.”

Ruby nodded. Sam guessed that she was probably turning all this over in her head. “So…she’s a kid…and she’s a ghost charmer?”

“That’s basically the gist of it, yeah.”

She suddenly stared at him with a hardened gaze. He blinked. What was with this sudden pissy attitude? “Sam, you’re not actually considering taking that girl _with_ you…?” she asked.

The Winchester pursed his lips. He hadn’t really thought about that since he left the motel. What _were_ they going to do with Therese? Sure, she had a practically invaluable ability with ghosts, but she’d just be another mouth to feed, another person to train. However, since she’s obviously dealt with the extraordinary before, maybe she had a few more tricks up her sleeve. The girl could give them a big boost, but also hold them back.

He smiled guiltily. “Maybe…?”

Ruby glared at him. “Sam, you know how much she could push you back,” she snapped, “Our ultimate goal is to stop Lilith and the seals, _right_?”

“Well yeah, but how—“

“She’s a _teenager_ , Sam. Teenagers tend to get in the way of a lot of things.”

“Therese doesn’t really get in the way _that_ much, Ruby.”

_Wait, why am I defending someone I barely know?_

The demon shook her head. “Fine. Do what you want. Just know that when she fucks up – and she _will_ fuck up – I’ll be the first one to say I told you so.”

Sam nodded slowly. Did he just get permission to use a minor as his pawn? He wasn’t exactly sure, but he knew it wasn’t a blessing to go out and take Therese to the mall or the movies or whatever teenage girls usually did in their spare time.

“Alright,” he mumbled, sliding off the bed. He glanced at the clock. **11:23 a.m.** “Ruby, I have to go,” he said, “Can you…um…”

She rolled her eyes before silently reaching over to the bedside table and retrieving an empty glass vial. The demon opened it and squeezed some of the thick red liquid still dripping from her wound into the thin bottle. Once she deemed it full enough, she screwed the cap back on and pressed it into Sam’s waiting hand.

“Try to make it last this time,” she said.

* * *

 

 

The younger Winchester nodded, sliding the vial into his pocket. He stood from the bed and quickly exiting the room, shutting the door silently before making the slow trek back to his motel.

The first thing Sam Winchester heard when he was no more than ten feet from his room was the sound of a gun going off. This was followed by screaming and shouting.

In the split second before he walked into the room, he feared the worst.

A hard-cover Stephen King novel was lying on the carpet with a smoking hole in both covers. He looked up to find Therese and Dean having a yelling contest; the fact that his older brother was waving his Colt 1911 like it was a ragdoll made him nervous.

“That novel cost me thirty bucks, you _moron_!”

“Does it look like I really fucking care?! Besides, don’t you think a heart-attack is a little more important than some crappy King story?! You scared the shit out of me!”

“You thought I was a _monster_.”

“Hell yes, I thought you were a monster! You just fucking decide to appear out of _nowhere_ like—“

“Dean, I’ve been here since _last night_. What, did the lack of sleep turn your brain into a piece of crap?”

“ _Since last night_?! What the hell, man? Don’t you think you could’ve _warned_ me that you were staying over?”

“You passed out before I had the chance, _fucking dumbo_.”

“Oh, now _sweetheart_ , it’s a shame that I’m neither sexist nor age-ist, because you are asking for a nice size-10 boot in your ass.”

“So you remember my age _and_ my gender? Bravo, Deanie, why don’t you come over here and help me find my booklet of gold star stickers so I can put one on your _fucking forehead_.”

“Shut your smoke-guzzling mouth before I set your tongue on fi—“

Sam cleared his throat, drawing their attention. He sighed at them. “Dean--”

A sudden pair of clattering, hurried footsteps came from down the sidewalk. Dean immediately threw his gun under his pillow, and Therese quickly pushed the destroyed novel under the bed with her foot.

In a few moments, a maid from the motel ran through the open door. She stared at them, concerned and wide-eyed.

Sam smiled his best look-at-my-plum-I’m-such-a-good-boy smile. “Sorry, ma’am. My brother and our niece were just watching a movie.”

He turned back to them, and they both nodded eagerly, Dean’s hand already on the remote for the TV. Sam faced the maid again, who seemed a little more relaxed. “They like making their movie watching experience…theater-quality,” he said, grinning wider before shrugging and sighing, “They’re both going to go deaf someday, I swear…”

The maid smiled back and nodded politely before waddling down the sidewalk again.

Sam quickly closed the door. “Seriously though, Dean, what were you thinking?”

His older brother shrugged. “To be honest, I thought I dreamed her up, so I kinda freaked out when I saw her,” he said, “She really looks like someone I slept with in a while back.”

Therese glowered as she bent down to retrieve her book. “Glad to know I look like some slut you picked up at a bar,” she grumbled, dusting off the cover. Sam watched her try desperately to read the book, but the majority of the pages fell out of the binding. She let out an annoyed huff, picked up a few of the papers, and threw them at Dean.

He flinched at the flimsy contact. “What was that for?” he demanded, some of the pages falling on his shoulders.

“ _For trying to shoot me_.”

His older brother opened his mouth to say something, but it appeared that his argument came up short. His jaws snapped closed, and he shrugged. The battle was over.

Sam shook his head and rubbed his temples. The tremendous lack of sleep was giving him a headache.

“Speaking of which, Sammy,” Dean began, making his little brother immediately snap his head up, “ _Why_ did you run off and leave me alone with Casper?”

As the girl pouted at his brother, Sam’s jaws hung loose like a guppy. He couldn’t find any reasonable explanation to give him. Sure, he’d used the “I’m going out for a drink” thing on Therese, but Dean knew him better. Sam would never, _ever_ leave his brother alone just to go out and get a buzz.

“Uh…” was the only noise that escaped his throat.

His eyes darted to the girl. Her expression softened quickly, and Sam guessed that he was unknowingly begging her for help, because the next thing she said sort of surprised him.

“He went to go pick up a carton of cigs for me,” she stated, plainly and casually. She lifted up the box of Marlboro’s off the table and knocked the contents onto the wooden surface. Only two cigarettes fell out.

“I’m running really low on my smokes, and I lost my fake I.D.,” she said, grinning sheepishly.

Dean’s eyebrows raised and he turned to Sam. “ _Really?_ ” he asked, his voice demanding to know more.

The younger Winchester nodded. “Yeah, she wouldn’t quit whining until I went out and got her some,” he replied. He looked to Therese, who was beginning to light another noxious stick. “I couldn’t get any filtered packs; the guy said they ran out. Sorry.” He tried his best to look sincerely apologetic.

Therese glared at him as she breathed out a line of smoke. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she snapped, “How fast can one store…?”

She shook her head and stormed past him, grabbing his arm. “You and I are going to talk with that little bastard,” she hissed, pulling him towards the door, “And we are going to sort things out.”

Sam didn’t even get a chance to protest before the girl was pushing him to her truck. The last thing he saw before the chipped blue door of their room slammed shut was Dean’s completely bewildered face. For a moment, the brunette wondered why his brother wasn’t going after them. 


End file.
